To Whom
Something I wrote about a year ago. Not my best, but it helps to see how much I've improved.
To whom does my heart belong?
It has not the time to wait. Yet it all takes time to find its place.
Every moment it waits, its dying minute after painful minute.
After being betrayed countless times for what it thought was its home, it is homeless.
Lies fill the hands with water. The water slips through the crevices between the fingers.
To whom does my heart belong?
That question has yet to be answered.
Though the many places it can go, nothing will take it in.
Weak without comfort. Lonely without warmth.
Painful without treatment.
To whom does my heart belong?
The question left unanswered.